


everything is borrowed

by ghostwit



Category: One Piece
Genre: Fluff, Healing, Love Confessions, M/M, More or less. A furst kiss., Pre-Slash, That's really it bro. That's really it. I have no other tags.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 12:57:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21253766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostwit/pseuds/ghostwit
Summary: “I’m giving this to you-yoi.” Marco’s voice is clear and unwavering as it swirls into the ambience of setting sun, ocean wave, creaking wood, and yet Ace feels in it an impossible softness, the impression of a light that envelops rather than blinds, feather light as the touch of his finger against the shallow splits of Ace’s skin.





	everything is borrowed

“I’m giving this to you-yoi.” Marco’s voice is clear and unwavering as it swirls into the ambience of setting sun, ocean wave, creaking wood, and yet Ace feels in it an impossible softness, the impression of a light that envelops rather than blinds, feather light as the touch of his finger against the shallow splits of Ace’s skin. 

“It’s yours to keep.” he can’t pinpoint the exact instant the feel of callous turns to the fine fiber of Marco’s white-hot feathers, when the split of his skin turns its own albicant when the plume sinks into the gash and seals it shut with a quiet hiss. He shudders, full-body and quiet, accepts it. The grain of the table is smooth against his bare thighs and offers no resistance as he slides forward fully to cradle the other’s head in his hands. He’s barely able to relish in the widening of the eyes, the lift of their perpetual hood and migration of his brows to his hairline as Ace slots his lips against the others, fast, just long enough to sigh into the kiss, Marco’s fingers (flesh and bone, cool fire against the injured heat of the younger’s skin) finding purchase in the divots of Ace’s bicep and gripping even as Ace pulls away to smile up at the doctor. 

His mouth is agape to speak, but it closes fast at the crinkle of Ace’s eyes, his easy smile as he looks up at the first division commander, his pupils swallowing the argent edges of his iris.  _ Adoration.  _ Marco turns away, not-quite flushing, but on the edge of, a jolt of phoenix fire racing from his wrists, along the outside of his arms and to his shoulders in a rapid sputter. He turns his head, and his breath is warm against his own face as his nose meets the wall of Ace’s fingers at one side, the other man still cradling his face. Ace’s laugh speaks gaiety, teasing, but the fingers framing the blonde’s face still and his bicep goes tight--this, he flushes at, virile strength even in his passive nerves--against Marco’s now lax fingers. Neither have let go. It’s Marco’s turn to laugh, using just a hint of nail to broach the upper layer of skin, against the recently healed scar, bring forth a lick of Ace’s flame, hardly enough to light a candle, but enough to burn his own skin and bring his phoenix fire to meet it. Ace’s smile, almost frozen in place, drops as he screws his face up in embarrassment and annoyance at the pain, the mockery from the other. The laughter comes closer, and the younger’s pulse quickens, even as Marco’s grin goes past his mouth to rest his chin (scruffy, coarse, it sends an indulgent shiver up Ace’s spine) on the svelte curve of his shoulder. He turns, presses a kiss to Ace’s jaw just beneath his ear, feeling the rounded edge of bone under his lips. 

“I said you could keep it-yoi, didn’t I?” Ace stills again, tense, but rather than with the brittle quake of insecurity, it’s an impulse of elation, warm emotion rocking from the soft point of contact between the two of them and coiling muscle tight with excitement, anticipation. A laugh titters in his chest, and Marco meets his joy, warm breath over his ear and scruff tickling his shoulder and throat. Ace rolls in one fluid motion-- legs off the table, pivot on the ankle, hip to meet the other’s (a little grimace of pain as a healing muscle strains)-- and his laugh becomes uproarious all in one, warm from the motion. Marco arches his back, almost expectantly, and leans to take the other’s affectionate onslaught, half-forming talons to scratch against his scalp gently, smiling. Ace laughs, again, sunlight made sound, and takes the phoenix to the floor of his infirmary, knocks his head against the desk and laughs all the more. The warm walls reflect their glow as the sun sets fully. 

**Author's Note:**

> LOL. I have not posted anything in like a month. I wrote this like two weeks ago, soz.
> 
> Leave a comment if you want, yeh.
> 
> hazeism.tumblr.com


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